Page 8 of Brigand

It was dark when the carriage finally rolled to a halt.Violet had been dozing, propped awkwardly against the side of the cab, notallowing herself to drift off completely, but now she jerked to full awareness.The carriage rocked as her captor descended. A rumble of voices drifted towardher as he conversed with the driver but she couldn’t make out what they weresaying. She peered out the window but saw little but the shadows of trees. Thelap of waves and the salty tang of sea air sent a skirl of dread through her.They were on the coast. Surely he wasn’t taking her on a ship.

She shivered. She hated the water. Always had.

The door flew open and her captor—the Beast, as she hadnamed him—peered in. His features were limned in the muted light of the moon,softening him, making him appear almost civilized. Violet knew better.

“Come along, darling.” He lifted her out as though sheweighed no more than a church mouse. “It’s time to go.” She tried to fight himbut only succeeded in knocking her head against the doorjamb. “Stop that,” hegrunted. And when she didn’t stop struggling, he hefted her over his shoulderand smacked her behind. She squealed in outrage.

He chortled evilly and headed for the shore. Violet stilled.

“Are ya sure you do not want me to come with you?” Thedriver, an enormous hulk of a man, followed behind. From her ignominiousposition, Violet peered up at him—and her breath stalled. If ever a man shouldlook like a heinous criminal, he would look like this. His face was a mangledmess of scars and rumpled skin. His brows were crooked and bushy and his nosewas a bulbous knob that seemed about to fall off. A thick, unkempt beardcovered his face.

No. Please. Please don’t come with us, she thought.

“Tomorrow will do. We’ll move operations to the keep.”McCloud dropped her onto a hard wooden plank—that moved. It rocked alarminglyfrom side to side with the whisper of the waves. In dismay, Violet realized itwas a boat. And not a very big one. She sat up and glanced out over the waterand saw the rising shadow of an island.

Terror clutched her heart.

No. Surely they weren’t going there. In this ricketycontraption.

But they were. The McCloud stepped into the boat, then thedriver unlashed the moorings and pushed them off, watching, hands to his sides,as they floated out into the water.

The water.

Panic flared. Despite the thrashing it caused, Violet stood,braced herself and leapt into the water. It was only ankle deep but it wascold. Frigid tongues seeped into her boots but Violet didn’t hesitate. Sheslogged through the water and made a dash for the tree line.

Both men hollered. One because her flight had caused thestupid little punt to sway wildly and the other in an attempt to halt herescape. When yelling for her to stop didn’t work, the enormous driver lumberedafter her.

He caught her. He caught her before she made it five stepsdown the beach. He wrapped his arms around her waist and hauled her back to theboat. He tried to angle her back in but she kicked and flailed. Finally, hercaptor grasped one ankle and then the other. Between the two of them, theyforced her into that death trap.

Mercilessly the McCloud wound a coil of rope around herfeet. “Stupid girl.”

To her horror, he set her on the damp bottom of the boat andlashed her to the seat for good measure. She struggled against these bonds butit was hopeless. She was well and truly tied.

To a boat. A tiny, flimsy, rocking boat.

Blinding horror whipped through her.

Again, the driver pushed the boat into the water. It wobbledand bobbed alarmingly.

Violet screamed into the gag. Tears tracked her cheeks. Shecouldn’t catch her breath. This was her worst nightmare—worse than the worst.To be in a boat—on the water—was bad enough. But to be tied, helpless, unableto try to save herself should the vessel capsize, was appalling.

A clammy fist clenched her heart. She was going to die. In afrenzy, she fought against her bonds.

“Hold still.”

She barely heard the gruff voice at the end of the boat. Barelyfelt the smooth, rhythmic glide as he began to row to the far shore. She wastangled in a memory, one she never let herself remember. And now it overcameher. Strangled her.

A girl—a stupid girl—walking on the ice.

A boy calls from the shore. She turns. Smiles. Waves.

A sharp crack echoes.

Shock washes over his features, even as the ice gives waybeneath her.

And darkness. A wet, cold, airless eternity of hell. Ofpanic. Of horror.

A certainty of death.